Don’t drop me off at the curb, cut me some slack-jawed slack and bring my mushrooming memory along for the ride. Hold her fast that she might not embrace the tree with her death, but her Love. (Her spirit’s been looking for mine for a very long time.)
Shhh… She dances.
The message is clear: "Sneer at her dance! We are the inheritors of her; it is we whom she owes a great deal! We worship her, do we not? That’s worth something in return! And what of our work? We can use her as we see fit, there’s no deed of sale!"
Tomorrow and tomorrow…
Bring me back to where I’ve always been. I’ll stay this time… Yes. I will. I’ll put up a tent and live for eternity loving you.
© 2011 by mark prime
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